


Touch

by vinyl_octopus



Series: Tumblr prompt fills [8]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor whump, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinyl_octopus/pseuds/vinyl_octopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For skywriter98, who wanted some whumpy Martin/Douglas with Martin being touch starved and Douglas supplying magical fixing cuddles...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skywriter98](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=skywriter98).



God it had been a long weekend. Every muscle ached, and not in a good way, as Martin tightened the last bolt on the van’s wheel and slowly released the jack.

He rubbed his thumb over the textured handle of the wrench as he stared at the clouds; it was overcast above the shelter of the forecourt, and though it wasn’t currently raining, deep, dirty puddles lined both sides of the road. At least he’d managed to pull in under cover this time. But he was no Pollyanna. There was no way to look at those clouds and interpret the grey as silver. The large dent in the back of the van from the collision on Saturday morning was no comfort. That had, really, been an indication of how the rest of the weekend would go. That it wasn’t his fault made no difference since he couldn’t afford to take the van off the road for cosmetic repairs, even though a damaged vehicle was likely to put customers off.

He stretched his neck with a crack, then heaved a sigh and rolled his heavy, damp sleeves up, shivering at the rasp of material over his arms. Tools away, he managed to get the van started on the third go and was soon back on the road for the two-hour drive home. The heavens opened again ten minutes later, and the rain was a constant white noise behind the screech of the windscreen wipers as he drove alone with his thoughts.

Douglas was still in Europe. They’d traded trips so Martin could get this weekend’s job done and Douglas could make it to his daughter’s birthday party. But of course, Carolyn had slipped extra flights in on both of them, so the consequence was that they hadn’t seen each other for a couple of weeks.

This new to a relationship, Martin was already starting to question whether Douglas would even _come_ back, or at least, whether he’d come back to Martin. Two weeks was plenty for a change of heart.

He shook his head against the thought as he steered through the main street of Fitton, slightly distracted by the soothing rub of his hair against the firm foam of the seat’s headrest. He knew Douglas would be back on Tuesday. And no one needed to know he’d double-checked the flight plan logs to make sure Douglas hadn’t been making it up about the trip being for a whole week. God knows, Douglas, confident Sky God that he was, wouldn’t have checked up on Martin.

He swallowed a mix of guilt and self-pity, embarrassed at his neediness, even in the privacy of his own head.

Five minutes later, he pulled up outside the student house with a whining thud and crunch. Despite the broken air conditioning and the iciness of the day, the van cabin was humid and his clothes had gone from damp to sticky. A hot shower was quite high on his agenda, but by the look of the cars in the driveway, he might be out of luck.

Sure enough, he opened the front door onto a drunken gathering of students occupying the living area; patently unworried about their next day’s classes and largely languorous under a fug of suspiciously herbal smoke. He managed a quick flannel wash in the bathroom before uncoordinated thumping on the door sent him skittering out again. He braved the kitchen downstairs just long enough to make some stale toast, then locked himself away in the attic for the night.

*

Monday dawned soggy and dark. And cold. In fact nothing about the morning implied “dawn” had ever taken place. Martin lay flat on his back, gazing at the rain running down the outside of the skylight in the weak light. He pulled the covers up and wrapped them as tightly as he could around himself; rolled onto his side and tried to pretend someone else was there with him.

“Someone.”

It was a specific wish: _Douglas_.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a blissful second, he could almost feel breath on the back of his neck. Then the rain intensified as if someone had adjusted heaven’s taps, and the spell was broken by the clatter of weather against the windows. The bed sheet, even topped with a duvet and blanket, was nothing at _all_ like the warm weight of an arm around his chest. Even folded, his lumpy pillow was no substitute for soft lips pressed into his nape.

He flung the pillow across the room and sprawled on his back again. Weightless. Anchorless.

No van work today, what with it being a Monday. Hardly anyone booked deliveries for a Monday. No flying, either because. Well. Because Gerti was still away. With Douglas.

He bit back an unhappy groan and scoffed at himself. Even for him, this was bordering on too pathetic. He threw himself out of bed and chanced his luck that the bathroom would be empty. It was.

It was also tiny and poky and the fluorescent light did nothing for anyone, and certainly didn’t make it a room to linger in, but he did manage to luxuriate in the shower. Hot needles of water burnt away the chill of the morning if not the cold lead in his chest. He ran slippery, lathered-up hands over himself, partly to cleanse, partly to soothe. It helped a little and he gripped tightly as he slid his hands down his own arms and thighs. Trying to replicate the feeling of someone else’s touch. Nothing sexual, just… contact.

It worked to an extent. He was warmer and slightly more relaxed as he dried off. But the house was empty, the students all miraculously at college. An arctic draught blew through the corridor between the cracks in the door. He could hear the gate outside had come unlatched again and was slamming against the fence.

He went back to his room and dressed with a sigh. If he sat around at home all day, he’d get maudlin. Maudlin-er. Grocery shopping would at least kill a bit of time.

 

The supermarket was warm. And brightly lit. The music was a little tinny and annoying, but the shop was large enough that he could wander the aisles without having to look out onto the bleak, wet street. It was busy for a Monday, too. He exchanged a few wan smiles with other customers as he slowly filled his basket. He felt adrift from the world and found himself yearning for human contact; sidling closer to others than he ordinarily would. Nothing creepy… just enough to be noticed. And in the way. When he inadvertently blocked one woman between the bread shelves and a set of packing crates, she mistook his shy apology for flirtation and pushed past him, disgusted.

It was troubling how much he savoured even that touch. Martin forced himself to leave, having overstuffed his basket, then made his way into a small coffee shop after depositing his bags in the van. He sat on one of the stools at the bench along the front window, nursing the hot cup over a crumpled newspaper that he ignored in favour of watching people dash by in the rain. The regular rush of frigid air every time someone entered or exited the shop was a feather-sharp brush over his skin. But after an hour, he was shivering with cold rather than sensation and it was time to go home.

He spent the afternoon practising on his flight simulator; his single-minded focus exactly what he needed to pass the time.

*

At 7:30pm his mobile rang.

“Good evening, sir. What’s keeping you occupied on such a lovely night?”

“Douglas?”

“The very same.”

“Oh! Er. How’s Brussels?”

“A bit breezy when I left it. Not to mention…”

“Not to mention?”

“Missing some of my creature comforts. That is to say, warm food, a DVD…and my favourite co-pilot.”

“You’re home?” Martin’s voice was nearly a squeak.

“About ten minutes ago. And though that was a _key_ part of my statement, I rather hoped you’d read _between_ the lines and recognise this as an _invitation_.”

“Oh! You mean…what, now?”

“Well…” Douglas sounded slightly wrong footed. “Not if it’s inconvenient, of course. But if you’re free. And willing…”

“Of course, sorry…I wasn’t sure…”

The subtlest of flirtation coloured Douglas’s tone. “I thought I’d better make sure I still recognise you before we fly together tomorrow. It’s been rather a while.”

“Yes,” said Martin, heartfelt. “It has.”

“Excellent. Well. I can organise food if you’d like to…If you’d like to bring a bag and your work stuff. Perhaps we could stay in tonight and tomorrow morning and head back to the airfield together in the afternoon?”

Why did _Douglas_ sound nervous? Martin was too busy calculating what he needed to pack to answer; holding the phone to his ear as he scrambled through drawers.

“Martin?” The flash of nervousness had been subsumed by a note of amusement. “Shall I assume that racket is you getting ready to come over or are you actually destroying the place?

“Oh, um, yes.” Martin felt his cheeks flush, unseen, as he tried to close the last drawer a little more quietly .“Yes. I’ll be over soon. Thank you.”

Douglas’s chuckle echoed in his ear as he hung up and got his flight bag ready.

*

He got to Douglas’s in record time, halting awkwardly by the front door when he realised he had been in such a rush he hadn’t thought to look in a mirror, let alone shower.

Douglas didn’t seem to mind, hauling him off the front step with one arm and retrieving his bag – to throw it on the floor by the stairs – with the other, before wrapping Martin in a bearlike embrace as he kicked the door closed.

Martin’s own arms came up instinctively, his eyelids dropping shut as if Douglas had pressed a button. He buried his face in Douglas’s armpit, along with an apology for his scruffy state that was overruled by Douglas’s appreciative growl directly into his hair and his fingers digging into his T-shirt-clad ribs.

Douglas’s arms were firm, as warm and solid as he had imagined; they tightened as he shuffled surreptitiously closer, nuzzling in deep and burying himself in the security and strength of his partner. He needn’t have worried about showering; Douglas’s armpit smelt comfortingly of sweat – the vestiges of a long day waiting around an airport and then sitting in the flight deck. It was a familiar scent that signalled home and safety, in a way his own acrid perspiration never could.

He inhaled deeply, before turning his head to lean in close against Douglas’s shoulder, rubbing his face over the still-crisp shirt and the muscles beneath. He could just about feel the chest hair scratching against the fabric on the other side, a counterpoint to his own stubble that rasped and caught on it from this side. The steady thump of Douglas’s heart was calming, Martin’s own racing heart slowing to match it beat for beat. He mouthed at the shirt beneath his face, seeking sensation rather than seduction, squeezing Douglas until he exhaled sharply, pulling his own face away from Martin’s hair with evident reluctance and drawing back far enough to look down into Martin’s semi-lidded eyes.

“I missed you, you know.” Douglas’s voice was deep and slightly scratchy.

Martin rolled his face to press against Douglas’s sternum, shirt buttons digging into his nose – grounding him as he tightened his arms still further and reached up so he could span his hands against his shoulder blades.

Douglas pushed a kiss against Martin’s brow, gently tugging him towards the living room without releasing him. It was slow progress, but neither of them were in a hurry. When they finally made it to the couch they sank gracefully to sit, still embracing awkwardly, neither willing to give up contact… until Douglas took charge once more, tipping them both back to lie down, then flipping them so Martin was tucked safe and secure against the back of the couch, with Douglas pressed up against him from head to toe.

Martin let out a small whine of relief as Douglas stroked firmly up and down his spine, wrapping one leg around both of Martin’s so he was almost entirely wrapped in a Douglas cocoon. Finally. Martin was warm in a way that had nothing to do with heat. He squirmed impossibly closer, clutching one hand to Douglas’s back and the other, where it was trapped from when they’d fallen, pressed up against his chest. He tilted his head up with a needy sound, trying to indicate his desire to be kissed, but was thwarted by his position, tucked under Douglas’s chin.

He was soon distracted by the hand wandering through his tangled locks, and as Douglas alternated between massaging his scalp and playing with his unruly hair, Martin sank with a shudder of delight into a relaxed and boneless heap, utterly lost to the sensation and drowning in the touch for which he’d been so starved.


End file.
